(Kei Minazuki's POV )
---
April 20th – Rainy Wednesday
The rain came suddenly.
Not a drizzle.
Not the kind that hesitated politely.
It fell like the sky had been holding something in too long — and finally let go.
Kei Minazuki didn't mind the rain.
She never had.
There was something sacred in the sound of it — like silence, but alive.
---
She had stayed late again.
Paperwork. Homeroom duties. And the ever-growing stack of sketch submissions from the art club.
When she stepped outside, the rain had already swallowed the city. The walkway between the staff building and the east gate shimmered silver.
She pulled up her hood and stepped into it, umbrella still tucked in her bag.
But as she rounded the side path—
She saw him.
---
Alex Aizawa.
Leaning against the side of the school fence, sleeves damp, hair sticking to his forehead. No umbrella. No jacket.
Just standing there, like the rain wasn't even touching him.
Kei slowed.
Watched him.
He didn't move.
Didn't notice her.
Just stared upward — into the storm — with that same hollow calm she'd seen once before.
> He's not thinking about getting wet.
He's thinking about disappearing.
---
She walked toward him quietly.
No click of heels. No greeting.
Just her presence.
A pause.
Then, softly:
"You'll catch a cold."
Alex blinked. Looked over his shoulder.
The mask tried to form. That easy smile. That reflex.
But it didn't fully land.
"…Ah, Minazuki-sensei," he said, voice low.
"You don't need to lie right now," she said gently. "It's just the rain. It won't tell anyone."
He let out a short breath — not quite a laugh.
"You always say strange things."
"Only when I'm being honest."
---
She stood beside him under the rain.
Didn't force him inside.
Didn't hand him her umbrella.
Just matched his stillness with her own.
It was the kind of silence that asked nothing.
And maybe that's why he finally spoke.
---
"Do you ever feel like… no matter how much you smile, it's still not enough?"
His voice cracked at the edge — barely.
Kei turned to him.
Not surprised.
Not startled.
Just quiet.
"I think," she said, "some people learn to smile before they learn to breathe."
He glanced at her.
For once, he didn't look away immediately.
---
"You see too much," he said.
"I don't try to," she replied. "But I notice what's quiet."
He nodded slowly. Eyes drifting back to the sky.
The rain softened a little, like it was listening.
---
"You're the first teacher who's ever said something like that," he murmured.
Kei tilted her head. "You mean, something that isn't advice?"
He chuckled, a breath heavier than laughter.
"Yeah."
She hesitated.
Then said softly, "Most people only give advice when they think you're salvageable."
Alex didn't respond at first.
Then, voice barely audible:
"…And what if I'm not?"
Kei turned toward him fully.
Looked him in the eye.
"You are. But that's not the question that matters."
He frowned. "Then what is?"
Her reply was immediate.
"Do you want to be?"
---
The rain stopped.
Not fully — but softened, like it was exhaling.
Alex looked down at his soaked shoes.
"…You talk like you've seen this before."
"I have."
He paused. "Someone like me?"
She nodded.
"And what happened to them?"
Kei smiled — not with her lips, but with her voice.
"They lived."
---
A long silence.
And then:
"Do you think someone can live… even after doing unforgivable things?"
That was the first time she heard the real weight behind his words.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Shame.
Heavy and silent and cold.
---
Kei didn't ask what he meant.
Didn't probe.
Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small folded sketch — pencil on vellum.
She handed it to him without a word.
He took it cautiously, unfolded it.
A boy, drawn in silhouette.
Standing beneath a storm.
Feathers falling around him, made from broken piano keys.
And stitched to the hem of his coat — shadows.
Subtle, stitched like threads.
At the bottom, a single line:
> "Some people aren't loud when they bleed."
Alex stared at it for a long time.
Then said, voice shaking slightly:
"You saw me before I said anything."
"Yes."
"…And you stayed anyway."
"Yes."
---
He folded the paper again — carefully.
As if it was fragile.
More fragile than him.
---
They stood in silence once more.
No umbrella.
No distance.
Just rain, falling quietly around two people who didn't need words anymore.
And for the first time in years—
Alex didn't feel alone in the storm.